Loss

Would you believe I'm glad my mother is dead? Sounds hard-hearted, doens't it? But there's a bit of logic, warped and twisted, maybe, but logic.

My mother died in September, 2007; just over a year ago. She had Alzheimers, had been diagnosed in 2001, but for several years before that, she was acting strangely. I'm sure she was slipping even in 1996 or so. But for six years, we (not she, of course) knew that her brain was being stolen, by something that we couldn't stop. The doctor wanted her on medication, and she refused to take it because "there's nothing wrong with me!" Yeah, right, mom...

Dad looked after Mom for six years, and went mostly deaf because when Mom wanted to watch TV, you could hear it half a block away; but when she didn't want it on, even the quiestest volume was too loud for her. So Dad had to endure a noise level that left him wearing hearing aids, or not watch the thng at all. But he didn't abandon her to a care facility.

In August 2007, they started talking about moving to a senior's home; Dad was getting ready to admit that he simply couldn't deal with finding the milk in the oven, the toast rack in the garbage, and the tea - well, he never did find that...

Then, on the Labour Day weekend, Mom had a stroke. She had another in the ambulance, we're thinking, and at the emergency ward, the doctor had the joy of explaining that while they could mop up the pool of blood, they couldn't prevent what he called a second stroke; and the likelihood of a further stroke was high within twenty-four hours, and nearly a certainty within a week. She could still squeeze one hand in the emergency ward.

So Mom was moved, with consciousness slipping, into a ward for a day or two until she could be moved to the other Regina hospital, to the palliative care unit. She probably had a third stroke that night as she was being hooked up to the monitors in the ward. Her blood pressure was up again to over 235 over some insane number that I've forgotten. And she slipped into complete unresponsiveness.

Mom died 5 days later without regaining consciousness. Dad was with her almost the entire time, and my brother and I spent as much time as we could there, too.

We all cried, but I found myself sorta grateful that she died of a stroke, because she was spared the long, slow descent in the particular hell that is Alzheimers. Even my father admitted a few hours after we left her in the hospital for the last time that he felt strangely relieved. The method of Mom's passing was kind, compared to what she had to look forward to.

I miss Mom, but I have shed very few tears; I knew 7 years ago that I was going to lose her even before she died, so I did my grieving some time back.

And why am I saying this? I say it because some people have a little more trouble than I do when relatives die. And for those people, there are grievance counsellors.

If you've lost a loved one, and it's affecting your life and/or your work, please talk to a counsellor. You can find them through a palliative care unit of the nearest hospital, or through your employer's Employee Assistance Program. If you're grieving and can't handle it, seek help. Please.

Thank you.

And I apologize if this is a bit disjointed. I should know better than to stay late at work and try to type coherently.

Love and hugs!

Remembrance Day

I love books. I’m also a wannabe calligrapher. Recently, I ordered the book “Foundations of Calligraphy” by Sheila Waters (from John Neal Bookseller). That book arrived on November 10, and I opened it at random, only to be instantly reminded of my dear online friend, Beth. Beth is a bibliophile, and is selling off her collection to pay for medical expenses. To lose one’s beloved books hurts; I know it does.

So what reminded me of her? - nay, brought me to tears, is more like it. It was a quote from John Conrad, beautifully lettered by the author, Ms. Waters: “Of all the inanimate objects, of all men’s creations, books are the nearest to us, for they contain our very thoughts, our ambitions, our indignations, our illusions, our fidelity to truth, and our persistent leaning towards error. But most of all they resemble us in their precarious hold on life.”

I just don’t know what to say after that.

Maybe I do. It’s the end of Remembrance Day as I type; a day to remember all the people, usually young, who have died for our freedom. Or because of the stupidity of military leaders. So I’ll close for today, and I’ll think for a few minutes now about how the last army to conquer Afghanistan was commanded by Alexander the Great. For over two thousand years since, nobody has been able to defeat the Afghans. I don't see anyone succeeding in the foreseeable future, either.

Postcards

Elizabeth at Screw Bronze wants to send people postcards. She's feeling terrible, and still wants to make other's lives better; that's what Beth does, though. The worse she feels, the more she cares about others.

So if you happen upon this entry, and you would like to receive a postcard from someone who wants to send postcards anywhere in the world, or if you know someone whose day might be brightened by receiving a postcard in the mail, please go to Beth's Postcard Project page here, and send her an email with your snail mail address. Or your friend's.

And if you're reading this, Beth, I just have to say that I'm in awe at the range of cards on your project site. I hope you find a use for the cards I sent you!

Since I can't currently comment to Beth directly, I'll wish you all what I wish her at least every hour in my thoughts and most days on her comments pages: Love, Zen hugs, and positive thoughts.

Self-reference

The silly bunnies at Blogspot have gone and played with the comments boxes. I tried replying to Dawn's last comment, and got nowhere. I tried commenting to Beth, and got nowhere, I think.

I also couldn't change the font of the last post after I changed it by accident to something disgusting.

I think technology hates me tonight.

More to the point, I think Blogspot needs to make sure the comments feature is working properly. Other bloggers have noted the problem in the help section, so I'll assume it's not just me.

Bicycles again

You will remember that I bought a propane stove in July, and carried it home on the bicycle. Well, the piezo-electric starter on the darn thing failed on the second one pound tank during the first weekend of use. I took it to the local service people, only to find that they didn't believe it was malfunctioning. I told them to check it again, and they called three weeks later to say it was ready. I checked it before taking it home, and it STILL wasn't fixed. So they tried again; this time, after a couple of weeks, they called to say that it was ready, and had been replaced, since it couldn't be fixed.

I went last weekend to pick up the new stove, but the repair folks were closed for Thanksgiving.

Today I finally got the new stove. And I brought home by bicycle, with what will probably be one of the last rides of the season. I didn't bother taking photos of the bicycle this time, since it looked the same as when I first bought it in July. Of course, here are yellow and brown leaves around the yard now.

It's autumn now, and soon it will be winter. We won't be using the stove before next summer, but at least it's finally repaired.

A Wee Bit of Music

I downloaded a Kate Rusby song last night (don't worry, I paid for it), and listened properly today. It's called "Underneath the Stars" and there's a video of Kate singing it here.

I have enjoyed Kate's music for some years, partly because she sings in her Yorkshire accent, which is rather endearing, but mostly because she's a fine singer and musician.

Another End

We've had to have our wonderful Siamese cat put to sleep.

His name was Oniko, and he was eleven years old. But in the last year, he was having trouble jumping onto chairs, due to arthritis.

He was losing a bit of weight in September, which would be a good thing. Except that starting on Wednesday of this week, he was unable to eat or drink, and on Thursday evening, he was in obvious distress. My Beloved took him to the vet on Friday; he was diagnosed with diabetes, which had damaged his liver and possibly kidneys. They transferred him to a 24-hour care vet, who called yesterday (Saturday), with the news that he was showing extreme jaundice, and wasn't responding to treatment. They could have done an MRI and inserted a feeding tube, but they could not promise any quality of life, and didn't think the prognosis would be at all good no matter what interventions we paid for (and pay we did!!).

So Middle son and I bicycled to the vet yesterday to say our goodbyes to a friend and companion. And Onkio has been given his chance to fly...

My summer

Okay, enough procrastination.

I ws trying to make photos small enough to fit, and anonymous enough to prevent legal issues, but it's not going to happen. So here goes.

Quad war: August 1-4: We rented a van that turned out to have a third row of seats that folded down, but wouldn't come out. That took up a quarter of our storage space. Things we forgot to put into the van: ALL the archery gear, and a Rubbermaid tote with the towels and dishcloths. They wouldn't have fit, anyway...

We has a great time anyway. Middle son took a class on how to make a wax tablet (medieval pda), youngest son did an hour of archery with borrowed equipment, then started to create a pendant with an amber bead. Youngest and I both attended the fingerloop braiding class, and I also learned flat felting. My Beloved took some Merino roving to a dyeing class (and said, as the instructor began preparing, "We who about to dye salute you."); she also attended a lecture on the seven deadly sins. There were eight, bu two were combined for brevity...

There were 515 people at the event, 59 of them children. We all ended up buying new leather pouches, and drooled over sharp knives, clay goblets, many gorgeous dresses, a warm cloak that was unfortunately too small for me, and the garb (clothing) of a whole bunch of excellent seamstresses.

There were battles fought, and very minor issues only for first aid (I'm the Principality Chirurgeon - I oversee first aid for our Principality, which takes in Saskatchewan, Alberta and eastern BC). Archers shot many targets, the equestrians had a great time (and we missed seeing them), the rapier fighters went swish, poke, and killed many of each other. Repeatedly. That's the good part of the SCA: the battles to the death are sometimes the best two deaths out of three.

There was a large, loud party on the Saturday evening that we deliberately missed. It was adults-only, and it was mainly an excuse to get puking drunk, which we don't do. BUt fun was had there, too, I'm told.

My Beloved helped get a bread oven fired up after some maintenance was done on it, and next year she's going to take the ingredients to actually USE the oven.

Yes, next year, we are going to attend again. We won't forget the things we did this time, and we'll be better prepared. In general, we had a blast this Quad War.

A Time for all things

This week, my Beloved and I are preparing to go to war. To be more specific, A war. Quad War, it's called. It's the largest annual gathering in the Principality of Avacal. Oh, you've not heard of the Society for Creative Anachronism? See sca.org for beginner's information on the SCA. See also http://www.sca.org for more information on the Society, and http://quadwar.avacal-sca.org/index.htm for the website of the event known as Quad War.

For now, we have acquired a new tent, two new foam-filled air mattresses, stove and fuel... Now we're getting the clothing ready. We each need garb for four days - and water for four. My Beloved is sewing at every spare moment, and I am attempting to braid four cords with the lucet, to be used to tie collars and cuffs of children's shirts. The stove works: I heated water for tea last night on the back steps. The air mattresses took a long time to inflate decently at first, but they're very comfortable. The sleeping bags will be checked tomorrow evening. Life is good.

Since I practice only modern first aid on our injured populace (if any injuries occur), I am not allowed to carry leeches, except the gummi variety. Gummi worms will be taken, and prescribed as needed. "No., no, don't swallow it whole; you have to grind it up by chewing for the medicine to work!"

The things that people have to go through...

Since I last posted, I survived a colonoscopy on July 14; yeah, the doctor thinks I’m getting “older” and am beginning to need routine preventive maintenance. And I discovered how small the world can be.

I could go into excruciating detail about it, but there are people reading who might get squeamish. Or would it be more accurate to say that there are SOME people reading who might NOT get squeamish?... So let’s just say that it’s a private sort of place, and not most people’s idea of the best thing to put on television. But if you’re told to have one, please don’t worry about having a colonoscopy. They’re not that bad, honest!

I will give a very brief synopsis: the liquid diet was not bad. It made an interesting challenge: can Neil walk past cookies, potato chips, beer, cheese, and my Beloved’s leftovers in the fridge? Yes, he can. For two days.

The worst part of the whole thing is the laxative. They try to make it semi-palatable by adding a really strong orange taste. That probably wasn’t as bad as the stuff would taste without it, but it was disgusting anyway.

Second worst part was waiting 7 hours in the hospital to have it done. By the time I was wheeled into the room, I was ready to undergo ANYTHING just to get out of there. So in a way, the long wait was a good thing: I stopped being scared, and just got impatient for it to be over with.

The third worst thing was for me only (for your sake, dear reader, I dearly hope it was only me): the nurse assisting recognized me from my workplace... Oh, lovely! Here I am, about to display some of my most private anatomy, and the nurse says, “I know you from the art gallery!” Thank you, no; I work for the City, not the gallery. They just lease the space in our building. And here I am, hooked up to intravenous, pulse oximeter (I have a resting pulse that didn’t want to go below 57), blood pressure cuff, and there’s tools around me that would make the Grand Inquisitor jealous, and I’m explaining my workplace to the nurse...

Trust me, colonoscopies don’t hurt; the drugs are very good. They do, however, inflate the, um, work site with air to ease the tool’s passage. The air goes in, distends the stomach, which is uncomfortable, and afterwards you’re told to lie on your left side, because that’s the way the wind blows. And blow it does. They encourage you to let the air pass without shame. The distention goes down, they call your ride home and you’re done.

And yes, there is a CRT screen in the room; it’s necessary, and allows the procedure in the first place. And no, I did NOT watch. I fell asleep. GOOD drugs.

And after all that, there’s actually a good side to what I went through. Well, two for me. They didn’t find anything evil, which is good. But they also asked if I’d be part of a survey group (YES! anything that helps). They needed an extra but small blood sample (sorry, Elizabeth), and two weeks later, I give another fasting blood sample, and that’s it for me. The reason is that there’s some sort of bio-marker been discovered in the blood. If you have the marker, you may have a 90% probability of bowel or colon cancer. If the marker isn’t in your blood, you are unlikely to develop cancer down there. So the study (whose lead researcher is married to someone I work with), is looking at the reliability of the bio-marker. If it turns out to be reliable, I may have helped prevent you, or more likely your children, from having to undergo routine screening colonoscopy procedures. And that IS a good thing!

But I still think my doctor could have found a more appropriate way to celebrate the storming of the Bastille last Monday.

Of Bicycles and Cats

Having bought and transported home by bicycle (on separate occasions) a tent that will comfortably sleep five, and a four-foot ladder, I found today that a new propane stove was in order. Of course, it came home on the bicycle. In terms of attaching things to a bicycle, it was like shooting fish in a barrel.




In light of my use of a bicycle for transport, I ask you, gentle reader, to comment with the strangest thing you have seen being transported on a bicycle. No, your little sister/brother doesn’t count. I will start the bidding, as it were, with having seen a cyclist pulling another bicycle; he had the front wheel strapped to an Xtracycle (a kind of frame extension/funky pannier), but it would have been little trouble to do the same trick with a regular bicycle. Or would it? Hmmm. Perhaps I’ll have to try it some time.

Meanwhile, it’s a cat’s life at our house. Our Siamese helped clean Youngest Son’s room by preventing any books from falling behind the bed.


I see a LOLCats caption for this photo: “Now that I’ve finally finished reading these books, I need a nap.”

Music!

I went to a practice tonight for the benefit I'm going to play at this month. I discovered that my mandolin calluses are gone, my shoulder hurts if I play the bones, and I still love making music.

Penny whistles still work for me, though, and even though I'm going to have to relearn a bunch of tunes, it'll be worth it.

However, I'll miss the fiddler I played with ten years ago. Barbara Powell was a wonderful player, and I felt almost telepathic when we played together. But she died about five years ago of breast cancer. That was when some of the musical magic died. I'll always treasure the memories of playing with you, Barb.

It's late, and I'm too tired to make sense. I'll try to post something meaningful next time.

Canada Day

I spent the afternoon in the park with my Beloved and two younger sons, and some of the local group from the Society for Creative Anachronism. We had been asked to show what we do, so four members wore armour and fought each other several times, I was the herald/announcer for a while, and we sat aound and looked cool for four hours. My Beloved took a drop spindle and attracted as much attention as possible while explaining how much work people had to do to create clothing.

I have no photos of the event because of (1) privacy issues, and (2) I suck at action photos.

it was hot and windy, with forest fire smoke blown in from the northern part of the province, but we had a good time.

Beth at Screw Bronze mentioned today that she has received the necklace I sent her. I put 5 belly dance bells on a cord made of crochet cotton, and braided on a lucet. What is a lucet, you ask? Well, here's a photo of mine, with the necklace in progress. I made the lucet from a spare piece of oak, and have made several small projects with it. Lots of fun, and good for surprising wonderful people with small gifts.


Now, it's after midnight and I'm exhausted from the day, so I'll post this to see how it looks.

Just a short note this time

I've not much to say tonight.

However, I've been thinking fond thoughts of my former musical partner,Brian Volke. He moved to Calgary ten years ago, and I see him a couple of times a year when he visits his family here. His band in Calgary is named Tir na n'Og, and their website is http://www.tirnanogtheband.ca/.

Brian's coming back to darkest Saskatchewan to play at a fundraiser for the Irish Club's dance group. This is a good thing, because I'll get to play with him again.

So if you happen to be in Regina on July 26, and can find St. Luke's parish hall on Argyle Road, I'd love to meet you.

Slainté!

Poi again

Tonight I'm going to talk about poi for Elizabeth, and everyone else who uses a wheelchair.

Poi are balls on cords or chains, and are spun around the body. The daring amongst us might even spin fire, but not me. And it's really not recommended for beginners at all. Some don't recommend it for anyone because it can be toxic and/or deadly hot.

Beth asked me if someone in a wheelchair could spin poi; the answer appears to be "Of course!" Modifications you'd arrange for wheelchair adaptation would be to use lighter weight poi balls, shorter chains (cord would be lighter), and, ideally, something soft, 'cause hitting yourself in the head and, er, "naughty bits" with a tennis ball isn't fun. "Trust me on that," he said, in a funny, squeaky sort of voice...

The moves you'd use from a chair would differ slightly, in that you can't spin as close to your side as we able-bodied show-offs, and you can't, obviously, pass them under your legs. You could get lots of mileage spinning above and around the head, and with the balls fairly far from the sides.

There's a forum at homeofpoi that will answer manymany questions about poi.

One person who answered my question suggested that someone in a wheelchair should try contact juggling. That's where the ball rolls around the hands and arms, mostly. And yes, it's very cool, but for someone with deteriorating small muscle control, it would be a real challenge. Beth??? See http://video.google.ca/videoplay?docid=8335132654793565672&q=EJC and http://youtube.com/watch?v=sIUcLDcIIF8&feature=related , where someone shows her OCD side.

As for my poi skills, I'm at a plateau already. I can do the basic moves I was taught a month ago, and I've learned a couple more, but there's moves called weaves that are completely beyond me for now. I'm having fun trying them, though.

Until next time...

Poi!

As part of Beth McClung's May Madness weekend, I attended a one-hour class in spinning poi. It was good fun, and I met a cycling companion from over 10 years ago.

Since then, one friend has asked me to teach her about Poi, and I was happy to spend some time on a cold Tuesday evening with her in our downtown park. She turned out to be fairly good for a beginner, partly because her father had taught how to spin two swords. Yes, it's a similar technique, but slightly less dangerous when the spinning objects are balls on strings. On the other hand, she did demonstrate why EMTs tend to refer to facial piercings as "zippers." She managed to catch one of the strings on her eyebrow stud, and tugged hard enough to cause blood. Not serious, but painful enough to encourage her not to do it again!

As I left work Monday afternoon, I noticed three young ladies spinning poi in the park next to my workplace. I couldn't resist stopping for a few minutes to watch them, and try to figure out one of the techniques they were practicing. We agreed that what they were doing is a bit like double-entry bookkeeping: if you try to analyze it, you'll mess up your head. If you just do it, it'll work fine. So I watched the three fit, adventurous young ladies who are ever-so-much more flexible (and better looking!) than I, and went home inspi - encouraged to continue practicing.

Poi is a fitness and training device developed by Maori warriors. It's quite good for developing flexibility, coordination, and general fitness. It's gentle too, if your poi are relatively light; mine are made of tennis balls with a swivel of some sort on a string, and encased in a nylon sack. Though I bought them from the instructor at the workshop last month, they originally came from http://www.homeofpoi.com/ and they're available from many other sites, too. I wondered on Beth's behalf if they could be spun from a wheelchair, and found a site that briefly mentions just that. There's no reason they couldn't, but you'd have to avoid your wheels and legs is all. Some moves wouldn't work, but practice would make others work.

As for the thrice-damned pipes below my kitchen sink, my Beloved Wife assisted my father yesterday, and they installed a new drain. It leaked a little bit for a while, but I think it's safe to say the job is finished for now.

Father’s Day, My Ass. Or, "Where's It Leaking This Time?"

On Saturday last weekend, I replaced the faucet on the kitchen sink. It’s a simple process - Step 1: remove old faucet... Yeah, right. I eventually used a ratchet handle as a hammer to pound the “finger-tight” plastic nuts loose, with insufficient clearance and no way to actually see what I was doing.

You see, Regina water has peculiar properties: the lime in it can cement the threads of nuts and bolts more securely than rust.

But I persevered, and managed to install the new faucet in half an hour. AFTER removing the old one. We tested the new faucet, and it worked wonderfully. Except there was a small leak in a horizontal section of the drainpipe. Ah, crap; the banging and smashing of finge - plastic things must have loosened a solder joint in the pipe. No problem, ‘cause I have a propane torch and I can figure out how to put more solder into the leaking joint. The Internet helped me there, and the next day, I began to get to work.

The propane torch didn’t work. I’m not able to see what’s wrong with it. It may just be dust in the burne unit, but I can’t see how to clean it. So I put a margarine container under the very small leak, and made plans to fix the drain this weekend. I started by buying a new propane torch yesterday. No problem.

I started to look at the pipes this afternoon. Sunday. Father’s Day afternoon.

I grabbed the pipe to wiggle it to see how loose the bad joint was, and my thumb went THROUGH the copper.

Remember the peculiar properties I mentioned of Regina’s municipal water supply? It corrodes copper pipes. It can take more than twenty years, but our drinking water will corrode copper pipes. And some of us drink the stuff.

So I called my father for moral support, and he came to watch and help as needed. Fortunately, the previous owner of the house left an eight foot long piece of pipe of just the right diameter in the basement rafters. Dad and I cut the pipe, cleaned it up, got the old, corroded piece out, and replaced it, with a false start here and there. It took about three hours, but we got it done.

We tested our work: it leaked from a different joint. I touched the vertical pipe next to that joint, and the copper collapsed. This time, the corroded pipe was the one attached to the sink drain. Ah, crap; we shoulda checked that, and we could've replaced both pieces at the same time. Oh well.

We heated and separated the bottom joint, took the remains outside, heated the top joint and got the corroded pipe off the flanged pipe from below the drain. We used our knowledge from the previous false starts and actually made good time in getting the old pieces of plumbing ready for the second new piece of copper pipe.

Did I mention that the eight-foot leftover pipe in the basement was a bit dirty? For lack of a wire brush, we used emery paper on the inside for over an hour to get it clean enough to solder into place. The sun had set by the time we had tested the fit, prepared the two new joints with flux, and heated the joints to solder them in place. Oh, and we remembered the plastic washer that goes between the plastic drain and the copper pipe.

We finished the second pipe relatively painlessly, and tested the new pipe again. And it leaked again. Crap. When I heated the joint, I accidentally melted the plastic parts above it. And those parts would be the bottom end of the drain.

By then it was 9:30 p.m. There are no hardware stores open. And I have to work in the morning.

My father has volunteered to pick up a new drain tomorrow from the nearest hardware store, and will help my Beloved (known for now as my first wife) install the new drain. Then she’ll be able to wash today’s dishes.

It’s now 11 p.m. and I haven’t yet gotten all the melted plastic off the top of the copper pipe. I also haven’t started the proofreading I volunteered to do for my dear friend who’s writing a newsletter for the Society for Creative Anachronism. She came to the house at 7:30 this evening to pick it up, and I have completely forgotten it.

I have drunk some Bailey’s Irish Cream and some tea. And I’m very frustrated with plumbing. I’m also rather sweaty now, so I’ll post this, have a couple of laps of the bath tub, and proofread what I can before I fall asleep exhausted.

And that was my Father’s Day.

I hate "holidays."

Spinning things

I spin things.

I spin pedals for enjoyment and transportation; early morning bicycle rides are beautiful, with cool air, warm sun just rising, and less traffic than there will be later. I spin the pedals fast, too. The number of times in a minute you spin pedals is called cadence. It's generally agreed that a cadence of less than 80 isn't very efficient for cycling (at least it was 25 years ago). I try for a cadence of 104 when I can, so I don't have to push as hard on the pedals. That's quicker than most would spin their pedals, but the kilometres do fly by when things are going well.

Two years ago I hired a fibre artist to teach some friends of mine, and my beloved wife and me, how to spin yarn using a drop spindle. (I guess that was a Wild Weekend too!) Medieval textiles were created mostly from fibre made with drop spindles. The sails on those gorgeous Viking boats? All of them were made of linen, and all those thousands of kilometres(!) of linen thread were spun on drop spindles, woven on warp-weighted looms, and sewn together. But labour was cheaper back then.

My beloved spins much better than I; she's working on some Merino wool that is going to make something wonderful. We don't know what, yet, but it will be special. Spinning is one of the things we do to fit into the medieval atmosphere of the Society for Creative Anachronism.

For Beth McClung's Wild Weekend last month, I learned to spin Poi. No, no, not the Polynesian staple food. Poi is balls spun on cord or chains. If you're adventurous, you could spin pots of fire. I'm not that stup - er, adventurous. And it's not what I'd consider a safe risk. So my poi is tennis balls in nylon covers on strings. Flashy, but relatively safe. There are LED versions to flash or glow for night-time use, which are much safer than real fire.

My adventure for today was to teach a young friend how to spin my poi balls. She has swung swords around, so this wasn't a big leap for her. It was a little thing, perhaps, but it helped to pay forward the enjoyment of Beth's challenge. And since we did this lesson at the local SCA fight practice, I also got to watch over five people in armour swinging blunt objects at each other, which is part of my duties as a volunteer first aider, or chirurgeon, in the SCA. Nobody needed first aid, which is good, and my young friend got to spin with me, which is better. Small things, perhaps, but the world is made of small things, which put together add up to big things.

So there's lots of spinning in my life; pedals, yarn, balls: it's all good.

So much for good intentions

Good intentions are wonderful, and I had intended to blog daily. But life tends to get in the way. I guess im not as dedicated as some bloggers.

On Saturday, I played plumber, and spent far too long and a great deal of energy replacing the kitchen taps. Damned lime built up and corroded the nuts into place under the counter. Oh, you’d have to see a lab analysis of our water to truly understand it, but it can be full-bodied, and foul. Not poisonous. Quite. Just foul tasting and smelling.

On Saturday evening, Eldest Son stopped by on his way home from work to help tidy the fridge, as teens tend to do, and then stayed to talk. One of his friends called him to say the party she was at wasn’t happening, so she came over and we all chatted until after 1 am.

Yesterday, I paid for Saturday’s late night with a reminder of my own little “disability”: I woke up with a migraine headache. So I went back to bed, and my beloved was kind enough to let me sleep in. I woke up at 3 pm with the headache mostly gone. But the time I was going to spend blogging was spent in other pursuits, and now its Monday evening already.

One of the more exciting things that happened on the weekend was that Middle Son fell asleep on the couch instead of applying himself to long-overdue homework. My beloved was unable to wake him, so she painted the nails on one of his feet. Since he had Gym today in school, he spent rather a long time scraping and sanding gold nail lacquer off his toes.

Today, it rained. Oh, the farmers will love it, but I can already hear the mosquito larvae cheering as they prepare to leap forth into the world.

And another day passes. No great revelations. But I got to bicycle home from work under clouds and in wet streets.

Zed!

Hello:

Yes, Zed. This isn't the end (or maybe it is, but it's the other end), nor am I beginning at the end. And since this is my first entry, let us hope that I don't end at the beginning.

I'm starting at Zed because that's the title of the book I'm currently reading. The author is Elizabeth McClung, who I discovered in late 2007. Now I'm addicted to her blog, and honoured to be considered her friend. I've also read the blogs of some of Beth's commenters, and some of them have inspired - oops (sorry Beth!), encouraged me to start my own blog.

I have read and enjoyed many blogs, but they've almost all been the blogs of people with one or another disability. I've not bothered with any blogs from people living without disabilities, and I don't know what able-bodied people blog about. Maybe I'll find out, maybe not.

So here we are, at the beginning of an adventure. How long an adventure it will be, I know not, but you're welcome to stay and enjoy the ride. Comment away, and maybe we'll travel together.

By the way, I won't presume to review Zed. Not yet. I can tell you it's not a light-hearted book, but I'll wait to comment on it until I've finished it.